


And You'll Gaze Unafraid as They Sob from The City Roofs

by captainfile



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: A lot of yada yada, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Asexual Michael Langdon, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25584127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainfile/pseuds/captainfile
Summary: Following a stony woman named Lennon through the apocalypse, and her life.-"What about when I'm still alive?" She wonders, with a sneaking suspicion that his teeth are about to dig a lot deeper. "Are you going to take it from me?"Michael laughs again, hums, and drags himself away from her, towering again. His lips are dark with blood, when she blinks to focus on him, but it doesn't make any sense; she's barely in any pain, it couldn't be all hers. "I can hear your thoughts, you know," he brags with a crooked smile, that genuine one again. "I know your heart's already mine."
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	And You'll Gaze Unafraid as They Sob from The City Roofs

**Author's Note:**

> I have a history of inserting my issues into my writing, so. All the trigger warnings. Who knows what's in here! I will say though that I tried to make Michael as evil as possible while avoiding religious talk because while I love a dark character, I get squeamish when fiction authors can't come up with their own devils and use my religion. 
> 
> I also decided to go against some abuse dynamics, which is the reason for the Dead Dove tag. Instead of being just a victim, or having a savior complex, the main character's unhealthy relationships align with her personal values even though she recognizes them as bad. Think Hannigram. 
> 
> Title from Wasteland, Baby! by Hozier because it's the apocalypse man. What else am I supposed to use, R.E.M.?

“What is this,” Dillon had asked Harvey when they all walked in the front door for the first time, “your mid-life crisis?” 

“Dillon, your parents have a bigger age difference than we do,” Harvey had replied easily, and then turned to the rest of the group with a winning smile. “What do you all think?” 

Lennon was charmed, at the time. Dillon was too, she’s sure, but he never liked to put his love into words. He preferred bossing his siblings around, so Lennon and Nelson were quickly put to work. Nobody really asked how Harvey came up with the money to quit his day job as a low-level administrator at a pharmaceutical and open a coffee shop. Lennon’s theory was that he’d lost a family member and received a lump sum inheritance; Dillon’s, of course, was that Harvey was throwing everything he owned at the wall and the bank had just let him. Neither of them had a way to know, so they didn’t talk about it, but Dillon certainly didn’t seem to enjoy his boyfriend’s business. 

-

“Fresh meat!” Coco St. Pierre-Vanderbilt yelps and the couch under Lennon pitches back with the force of her enthusiasm. Or rather, boredom. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Timothy, this is Emily,” the pale, reedy boy in the doorway answers. He looks uncomfortable in the historic attire that hasn’t been tailored to him yet; the girl beside him looks like she can’t breathe. Her hair is long, and dry, and her eyes are sunken, but Lennon recognizes her immediately. 

“Emily!” She gasps, standing as Coco did. The poor ornate seating is the last thing on her mind as she rushes past all the finery and interested residents in the parlor to slam into the familiar figure with a tight hug. “Oh,” she sighs, swaying just a little. 

“Lennon?” Emily squeaks, as Lennon nods and holds back a sob. 

“What’s it like out there?” Gallant- as he insists everyone call him, though his grandmother Evie calls him Frankie- asks Timothy from by the hearth. “What happened?” 

“There’s nothing left.” As the boy speaks, Lennon holds Emily tighter, unable to imagine the outside world in her worst nightmares. What zombies have risen in the aftermath? 

“Is your family here?” Emily dares ask, and Lennon’s arms fall. She takes a step away; her body flinches from affection as it usually does. The reunion is short lived. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” She nods. What is it worth? The world is already done for. According to Ms. Venable, Outpost Three is temporary. According to some Grays Lennon overheard, the nuclear winter will likely outlast the bunker, let alone any future generations that might come of it. But thanks to Venable, none will try. Lennon’s been deciding what to do with the information for a week, and Emily’s arrival does nothing to help. 

-

Nelson must have had it in his head that he’d outshine his siblings in life, because he only showed up to work when Dillon showed up at his apartment to throw rocks at the window. Not that Dillon worked at all, himself- he was content scraping by, or rather, he hung off Harvey’s arm and complained the whole time. Lennon was admittedly not actually mad at her family, though. 

It was a date. Lennon had every clear intention in the book of holding the guy’s hand, or even giving him a kiss goodnight; they had flirted, he had asked if she was free that weekend, she gave him her number. It had to be a date. And yet, after everything, she walked into a bar and right into his girlfriend’s birthday party. He wasn’t sure how many people would come and invited random strangers to remedy the insecurity. Lennon could not have been more angry- she nearly hit him, if not for someone else doing it first and cutting the party short. 

Wiping tables the next day, and the day after, resulted in some scuff marks and a torn rag. Dillon came by with lunch for Harvey and called one of the new employees to fill the cash register, citing Lennon’s murderous glare but doing so from across the room. 

“I look pissed, do I?” She shouted back, and her feet moved without a moment’s thought. Dillon threw his hands up in front of himself, placating, crouching just barely, but Lennon had had it with his condescension. “Oh, is little baby afraid?” She about snarled, and then Harvey was grabbing her shoulders and pulling her away from the shocked customers. The world blurred. 

-

“These cubes contain everything we need to survive,” Dinah Stevens- the actual talk show host- informs Timothy and Emily as everyone sits down to eat. “Or so they tell us.” With two extra seats at the table, Lennon is snug between Dinah and Evie. There are worse smelling positions, she figures, eyeing the spot between Timothy and Coco. 

“I’m so hungry,” Coco groans, after choking down her pseudo-meal quicker than anyone else. Lennon tries not to make a face, but Coco looks at her and slams a fist on the table, standing. Her skirts ruffle as she pushes away her chair and grumbles. “I’m so tired of being hungry- fuck this bullshit!” Her shouting jars the residents. “With all the thought that went into this place, they don’t have a single bag of Pirate’s Booty in the pantry?” 

“Shit,” Lennon mutters under her breath, morbidly wishing the couple that got caught only a week ago had included Coco. 

“For a hundred million dollars a ticket, I expect Gordon fucking Ramsay in the kitchen, cooking us real food!” 

As she pants from her speech, Lennon takes a sip of her drink and averts her eyes from the garbage fire in the room. Ms. Venable has arrived, ominous cane and all. For a lingering moment, the standing women stare at each other, and then Coco yelps and falls into Timothy’s arms while a slap echoes against the walls. Lennon can't do anything but gawk at the scene, less surprised than she is alarmed- the woman just murdered two people today, that isn’t old news yet. Hell, the apocalypse isn’t old news yet. 

“I’m going to be very clear, so there will be no misunderstanding.” Ms. Venable’s tone holds no room for protest if it ever did. “We have enough nutrition for the next eighteen months, and if our situation doesn’t improve, you can count on less and less.” 

As she stalks away, Gallant pipes up, “situation, what is our situation?” 

“We had a perimeter alert this morning; something penetrated the grounds. It was a carrier pigeon, delivering a message from our benefactors. ‘There are no more governments, only rotting mounds of corpses, too many to bury. Starving people killed for a piece of bread. We are the last vestiges of civilized life on the planet. Be vigilant.’ We will only survive if we follow the rules.” 

“Two weeks,” Dinah’s son Andre gasps, leaning on his boyfriend Stu. Lennon closes her eyes and sees Harvey, wild eyed and short of breath, begging her to get on the plane with the rest of her family. 

-

Lennon’s dad had tried to grow a beard once. Her mom had hated it, but the boys had been obsessed. Lennon didn’t care that much, but it was exciting. When she saw Dillon attempting to grow his own, though, it was more hilarious than anything. She stopped sulking behind the espresso machine to laugh outright; the cashier was a high schooler who was only with them for a month, but he had no qualms about joining in on the mocking while Dillon flushed with embarrassment. 

“Good to see you laughing again,” he grunted, and took a sharp turn towards the bathrooms. Lennon closed her amusement off and poked at scattered coffee grounds on the counter. 

“So,” the high schooler turned to her when the last customer in line had ordered and they had to get to brewing. “That’s your brother, right?” He was. “What does he do?” She wasn’t sure what the kid meant- career-wise? When he visited Harvey? “He’s here all the time, but he isn’t a manager or anything, right?” 

“Right.” 

“So why does he hang around so much, if he’s not here for you?” 

Lennon handed a customer their drink and frowned, which wasn’t a great combination, so she flashed them a grimace and turned back to the espresso machine. “You’ve met Mr. Sullivan, right?” 

“No, but I know he owns this place.” 

Lennon damn near rolled her eyes, if it weren’t for someone walking up to the counter and slamming a half-empty cup down. The kid cowered, so she had to paste on her best smile and insist the value of the drink would be noted in credit to the customer when they decided to give their humble shop another try. “Dillon is dating him.” 

“Him?” The kid balked, pointing at the still-swinging front door. Lennon did roll her eyes, and went back to fixing drinks. “Oh.” 

“There, I shaved with the only knife I could find, happy?” Dillon burst out of the bathrooms and snapped at them both before rushing towards the back staircase to Harvey’s office. Lennon threw the knife in the garbage and hoped Nelson didn’t miss it next time he did any baking. 

-

What to do with all this time? The longer it stretches on, the quieter the days become. Stu had, before Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead killed him, been a fan of the Carpenters. Gallant, for a little while, enjoys The Morning After. But two weeks becomes three becomes too upsetting to remember. Lennon hates reading, wants to play cards and do something with her hands; the most she occupies herself with is learning to dress herself and coming up with new knots to tie loose ribbons with. 

“Do you mind killing me?” Gallant asks as she pulls two ribbons free of each other. “Like-“ 

“Please,” Emily stops him. Lennon wrings her hands and doesn’t say anything. 

A fight breaks out during breakfast, ended by red lights flashing and alarms sounding all through the bunker. Lennon hides in her room and doesn’t cry because she would get dehydrated. Dinner comes alive, which leaves her hungrier than usual for the evening. 

“Lennon,” Emily calls on her way to the parlor. In the dim hall, Lennon feels like a period spy, meeting her source behind castle walls. “Are you alright?” 

No. Her hands are shaking. “Are you?” She asks, after nodding. “The snakes were in your room.” 

“Timothy helped.” 

The women stare at each other for a moment. Lennon turns and messes with her ribbons as she continues her walk. 

-

College was expensive. Nelson got a scholarship, and Lennon dropped out, and Dillon kept going even though he didn’t have a degree in mind. Lennon didn’t know who was paying for her older brother, but she didn't ask. Maybe it was Harvey. The coffee shop seemed to be doing well, hiring students for a semester or two and parting ways amicably. 

But Lennon didn’t want to lean too heavily on her brother’s relationship. She liked the man well enough for loving Dillon, and for Dillon loving him, but she didn’t trust him. Especially since starting the business, he seemed strange. Reclusive. Lennon finally decided it was time for her to make her own way again; she thanked Harvey, trained a warm-voiced student named Emily, and moved to Nebraska. 

-

Emily sits beside Lennon when they arrive in the parlor. Things between them are awkward to say the least; despite living together for however long they have, all their conversations are stilted. Lennon feels like she has to apologize, but she hates thinking about how life used to be before the apocalypse because- because. The apocalypse. 

Ms. Venable stands in front of the hearth, silencing the parlor full of residents. For a few minutes, Lennon messes with her ribbons and everyone waits. The guest. The intruder, who turned out to be a guest? It doesn’t matter. 

Ominous footsteps echo from outside the room, and eventually clear, heralding the entrance of a man. Not just a man- probably the most striking person Lennon could fathom. His jaw is level to the ground as he walks, and his posture is unerring, but something in him gives the look of someone with their chest puffed up, smugly viewing everyone down the bridge of his perfectly sculpted nose. He doesn’t, though- doesn’t even glance at the residents, just steps up to Ms. Venable and smiling just barely. Just with his mouth. Venable retreats, and the man takes her place in front of the roaring fire, which seems to take on a life of its own in his presence. Lennon is awestruck at his appearance- she’s never been shocked into attraction, has always thought of herself as a slow cooker, but his blonde hair tumbles in a glowing river to his shoulders and his flat eyes are brought to attention by twin smudges of red makeup. She might gasp, but she hopes the sound doesn’t come from her. Regardless, his gaze as he turns to the room doesn’t settle on anyone in particular. 

“My name is Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative.” 

Even his voice is hypnotic; Lennon begins to zone out, caught it the man’s orbit as he speaks with a cold professionalism. 

“I won’t sugarcoat the situation; humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds in Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We’ve had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.” Someone asks a question that Lennon couldn’t care less about; the man tilts his head beautifully and answers in a harsh whisper, “massacred.” She swallows and tries not to cough on how much she’s salivating at the sight and sound of a complete stranger. “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.” 

Another person asks another question. Can’t they see Langdon, hear him? 

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe- the Sanctuary.” The other voices mar his presence. “The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.” As another voice lifts from the terrified quiet, Lennon feels compelled to mute her fellow residents, but she can’t possibly do so without speaking, herself. “That’s classified. All that matters is that the Sanctuary will… survive, so the people populating it will survive, so that humanity will survive.” Another question. “Also classified. However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us; the Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call… ‘Cooperating.’ I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.” Coco speaks, in a long pause between Langdon’s words, but she’s the last person Lennon wants to hear from. “You don’t have to sit for questioning.” His voice is like fresh air; missing for so long and so easy to miss. “Then you stay here and die.” Gallant volunteers to go first, and Langdon answers, “and so you shall,” tone dropping to a dangerous low. “The process should only take me a couple days, so, you won’t be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don’t make the cut, all is not lost; if the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these. One minute later, you fall asleep, and never wake up.” 

He holds up a corked vial of pills and this time as he scans the room, his gaze lingers on everyone, including Lennon who nearly dies when he looks at her. “I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.” 

-

The coffee shop was alright to work at. Lennon enjoyed menial labor on occasion, and enjoyed annoying her brothers always. Dillon made it easy. All she had to do, it often seemed, was exist. The mere sight of her would piss him off to a funny degree. 

“So uptight,” she remarked to herself, and got a nod from Nelson, only managing to fuel Dillon’s rage. 

“I can’t believe you two hate me so much, it’s like I did something to wrong you,” the eldest sibling snapped as he flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed.’ “Or do you hate Harvey?” 

“Dillon,” Nelson tried, and was quickly shut down. 

“Get over yourselves, will you? I’m going to marry him one day!” 

“All I said was hi,” Lennon argued. “Why don’t you get over yourself and realize not everything revolves around your relationship?” 

“My life does!” 

“Mine doesn’t,” she continued. “I’ve got friends of my own, Nelson has a fucking degree-“ 

“Not yet,” both brothers countered in unison. 

“And Harvey has given you everything, so I think you owe him some respect.” 

“I’m not going to bow at his feet because you’re angry with me, Dillon.” 

-

Langdon’s absence is suffocating. Lennon can barely make the walk back to her room. She brushes her hair and strips, donning her historic nightgown. Deep underground, she’s been cold, but over time it hasn’t been so noticeable. The dark hasn’t been so intense, either- she’s sure it’s darker outside, but it feels like eternal night in the bunker, no fluorescent light bulbs to be found. Candles are few and far between. Is the fire in the hearth real? Lennon wouldn’t know. 

-

Emily slips into her room in the middle of the night, waking her by lighting a match and shaking her arm. 

“Shit,” Lennon hisses, jumping back, while Emily lets the match die lighting a candle. “Emily, what are you doing?” 

“I should have come to you earlier,” she replies cryptically. “We need to talk about why we’re here, Lennon.” 

“Is now seriously the best time?” 

“Yes, keep your voice down,” Emily whispers, and once they’ve settled on Lennon’s bed, she snuffs the light. 

-

At first, Lennon wasn’t sure leaving home at all was a good idea. She resisted finding her own apartment until well after Nelson moved out. But once she was on her own, she couldn’t be far enough from her parents. She was filled with a passion for engineering, wanted to design and work on a cruise ship, go to space, become a ski instructor. Nebraska had none of it, but she fell in love with the place all the same. Fell in love with a man, too. 

Kuruk was a musician. His hair was silken and his eyes were narrow, his frame lean and soft. Under club lights, he danced, and Lennon nearly tripped over him in her own fun. She bought him a drink and he murmured in her ear that he’d be on stage later. He knew his talents, and didn’t pull away from humility, at least not for a while. It made her wonder what she loved more, the state or the state she was in. Her house was just far enough from the city that no one could hear her recover from his habits. 

-

The morning is quiet. The whole of Outpost Three is down to one meal a day, Gallant is missing, and Timothy and Emily look like they haven’t slept at all. Venable might not have either, but she always seems dead inside. Lennon doesn’t think she has any ability to read the woman. She can, though, read the room enough to see that Gallant didn’t make it through his interview. Langdon certainly doesn’t eat with the Purples. 

Lennon’s usual eavesdropping on the Grays is fruitful once again after the plates are cleared and everyone is free to wander the halls. 

“He was terrifying, Seri,” Aidan, she remembers him, tells a similarly dressed woman. “At first, he was like, I’m going to kill you unless you show me your authentic self, and then he was like, you’re already in!” 

“You’re in?” Seri whispers back, though not quietly. “You were in there for twenty minutes.” 

“Well then, he asked me,” Aidan trails off. “He said something that he couldn’t have known, and then he just ended the interview like that.” 

“What do you mean, couldn’t have known?” 

“I mean, I’m not about to tell you; I don’t know, it was probably bullshit.” 

-

Kuruk wrapped Lennon in a plush towel and a hug when she stepped out of the shower. She hadn't been taken care of so delicately since she was a kid, so she giggled and swayed with him to the beat of his own song on the stereo. 

“Wanna hear a story?” He asked. At her enthusiastic, smitten, spellbound nod; “my cuustar’u told me this,” he smiled. “At the beginning of the world, Tirawa Atius set a large bull buffalo in the sky to the far northwest. With the passage of each year, the bull loses one hair; when all these hairs are gone, the world will end. And, as that hair falls, there will be widespread meteor showers, and the sun and moon will become dim. Beautiful, right?” 

Lennon barely listened. “Beautiful,” she agreed, and watched Kuruk’s smile grow. 

-

“Lennon.” 

Coco frowns at Ms. Mead, who has appeared in the parlor doorway right when she was recounting some weird sexual experience that Lennon was tuning out. 

“That’s me.” 

“Mr. Langdon wants you to know your interview is in a few minutes.” 

Lennon stands, but on suddenly shaky feet; can she speak in his presence? She doesn’t know. Everything about him is intoxicating, even with the gossip. Her heart has always made her willingly blind. So she goes to Ms. Venable’s office and knocks lightly on the door. 

The giant panel slides away, but Langdon isn’t on the other side. Lennon steps forward anyways and stands unsure just inside the room. She jumps when the doors close on their own and watches them move; why would there be automatic doors in a bunker fitted to Venable’s ancient tastes? 

“Miss Walsh.” Langdon’s voice rises from the other side of the room and puts her into a state of shock again. “I’m afraid our formal interview won’t take place until tomorrow night, there’s something I have to take care of right now, but I wanted to give you something before we spoke at any length.” 

Lennon turns and watches him walk from the hearth to the desk, his shoes clicking against the stone floor. Embarrassingly enough, she learns something about herself that confirms her fear; she cannot, in fact, speak in front of Langdon. He strides right up to her and places in her hands a velvet watch box. 

“Open this in your private room and be prepared for your interview tomorrow.” She’s going to pass out. She nods, and he doesn’t move away, watching her for a moment. Lennon wilts under his gaze. “It’s a shame you’re so still,” he finally says, “a fallow tuning fork.” 

-

The racetrack was alive, with burned gasoline floating up to the seats Nelson had chosen. All colors of the rainbow in all shades filled the stadium. Nelson had also chosen the driver they’d be rooting for, a young woman who had gone to the same high school as them. An Indianapolis native. Her car was a bright, dusty yellow, with black flames licking up the sides that blended into a gradient when she sped up. Nelson was similarly dressed, and waving a small banner with her logo, a desert sun. Lennon had to admit it looked pretty cool, though she found most of the event to be overwhelming. All the sounds and sights pressed into a headache, as it usually did, but her little brother wanted to see the cars go fast. She wouldn’t be the one to stop him. 

“Did you see that?” 

“What happened?” She was watching the track closely, but Nelson’s eye was keener. 

“The first and second place bumped against each other, and their spoilers flew back into the third place’s path, but he dodged, and now fifteen and nine are in fifth and sixth place, they have to replace their spoilers if they want to get ahead again.” Lennon just nodded along. “But twenty one is in seventh, so when those two pull into the pit, see- now she’s in fifth!” Nelson stopped commentating to whoop and holler right in Lennon’s ear, making her jump back. Worth it, she told herself. 

-

“They didn’t tell me anything, but Timmy said we were chosen for our genetics.” 

“Not because of Harvey?” 

“Sullivan? What would he have to do with any of this?” 

“A couple weeks before the bombs, he surprised my whole family with a free vacation to West Virginia. There’s wineries, country clubs, casinos. I stayed in North Platte, and they all showed up at the local airfield in a private jet; I said no again, and Harvey…” 

“Lennon-“

“He lost it, okay? He was completely unhinged, said he had given up everything for my family and we never saw it. I mean, fuck, he was screaming, I was gonna call the police if Dillon wasn’t agreeing with him. They all thought it was a reasonable outburst, that he was just trying to do something nice for his sister in law.” 

“Do you think he knew, what was going to happen?” 

“I couldn’t say, he wasn’t specific. But when the Cooperative came to collect me, they said I was being sponsored by someone else. I didn’t know for what until I was already in here; I arrived two days before the bombs.” 

“How could he afford it? I thought he was middle management before the coffee shop.” 

“I think whatever he did to start the business was the same thing that got me here. You were the one protesting outside, right?” 

“I didn’t think coffee slaves had anything to do with the Illuminati, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“I didn’t say Illuminati, Emily.” 

-

Inside Langdon’s watch box is a digital voice recorder. It’s bulky, with few buttons, and most of the symbols are rubbed away. On the back, the dark plastic is stamped with a Sony logo. Lennon’s only appointments before her interview are cocktails, dinner, then cocktails again, then dinner again. Nothing major. She can afford to hole up in her room for whatever’s on the device. Part of her doesn’t want to, afraid of what the Gray mentioned, but curiosity eats at her the longer she sits with it in her hands. So she hits buttons until the thing sparks to life, beginning with some white noise. 

“Hello.” 

“Dillon,” she gasps, and tears spring to her eyes as she mashes more buttons to make it stop, make it stop, her brother- her brother- 

Langdon doesn’t react to her throwing his door open. 

“What the hell is this?” She brandishes the device and closes the door behind her after noticing the emptiness of the office. “Where did you get this?” 

“You could listen to the full thing and find out,” he replies smoothly, head tilting just so. “I have; your brother is a great storyteller.” 

“Is?” Lennon feels like she’s being pinned from all sides so her head can only point one way. To her family. “Well?” 

Langdon doesn’t blink. The longer she’s in his office, the more she feels that numbness coming back, but her family takes precedence. “I won’t tell you anything you can just as well hear in that recording.” Lennon grits her teeth and clenches her fist. His lip twitches, and he stands from his desk, walking past her to the doors but not opening them yet. “Come back as soon as you’ve listened to the full tape, and not a moment before.” 

-

Hello. Um, my name is Dillon, Dillon Sullivan; that’s still a bit new to say, but. It’s true. I’m married. Well, anyways! I’m- I was- in IT, that’s how I met my husband. We worked at the same company. Anyways. Uh, I’m from Indiana, Indianapolis, or really the suburbs, and I’m the oldest of- 

Hi again. I’m not sure why I’m recording this, like, journal sort of thing, but it feels good to talk about myself. Sue me. I’ll keep this for posterity; one of the women in the bunker is already pregnant, and so everyone’s food is going to her, which means we probably have six months before we have to go forage or whatever. Who knows why a nuclear bunker can’t support forty people for very long, it kind of scares me. I can’t do anything about it though, so, that sucks. We’ve been doing this really gross fasting thing where we wait like three days between meals so our bodies know that food isn’t readily available, then maybe we’ll last longer when it finally runs out. I’ll have to eat one of my new friends! Just kidding. Really, I’m kidding, it’s more likely that I’ll give my vital organs to keep the human race alive. Not the best way to go, but Harvey helps me want to be selfless. Especially now. 

It’s so dark down here. I fell and now I have these awful bruises that make it hard to breathe, just wanted to let the record show or whatever. 

I’m so fucking hungry. 

What would future generations even look like? I mean, three heads? I don’t know. Seems worthless to me, but it isn’t up to me, is it. Even if I wasn’t married, I tied my knots years ago! Ha. 

So Nelson and Harvey are fighting I think, and I don’t know why, but my parents are blaming Harvey for Lennon not being here even though it’s completely her fault. I mean, she said no, she didn’t want to go on vacation with us, and how could any of us have known what was about to happen? Like, we are so lucky that the bunker was here and they knew Harvey. Lennon’s- Lennon’s probably- fuck- 

Harvey… bowed to Michael Langdon. 

I don’t think I can do this. Harvey says we’ll get in, we’re fine, but what is it worth, right? I can’t face Michael again, it’s like he can read my every stray thought and oh, so maybe I haven’t loved Harvey with my whole being from the moment we met! Love is like that, it changes all the time, it’s a choice you make when you wake up every day, I- ugh. 

I don’t know what’s real anymore- what the hell _happened_ \- 

I’m so sorry. This tape isn’t for posterity, because there wont be any. But if anyone ever does find this, I’m sure you’ll already know; don’t trust Michael Langdon. He’s going to kill you. And he can’t be killed. 

-

The wedding was delightful. Nelson was Dillon’s best man, of course, and Harvey’s good friend was his best man. In their expressions, Lennon saw a return to their relationship from years before, when Harvey was amazed by everything Dillon said and Dillon would swoon at the lightest touch of hands between them. She didn’t doubt they would make a great team, as they already had, but something weighed on her, telling her that they hadn’t acted so lovingly since the career change and that they might not, even married. 

She still enjoyed the party, of course, taking the opportunity to welcome her new brother in law to the family and bond with everyone. Somehow, they had booked the Four Seasons in Chicago. 

Dillon and Harvey themselves were practically glowing as they danced to Lady Gaga, who actually flew in to perform in person. Nobody asked why aloud. 

Kuruk was starstruck. He could barely stand up straight to dance with Lennon, and ran off to meet the singer as soon as she seemed unoccupied. But he returned to her eventually, all done up in his rented tuxedo. 

-

Outpost Three is dim. The lighting often seems ethereal, candles flickering with a draft that isn’t quite there. Lennon snuffs the candle in her own room and closes her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. Something is wrong, so wrong. Who is Michael Langdon? Who is Harvey Sullivan? What do they want? Is there any hope for Lennon to lead a fulfilling life, even with the knowledge that she’ll be of the last humans to ever walk the Earth? 

Somewhere in the bunker, like when Stu died, there is a gunshot. Lennon flinches, but doesn’t move to do anything about it. If Mead wants to go around shooting people, Lennon won’t be next. She waits until she’s slept to leave her room. 

Langdon opens the door with a politely blank smile. “Thank you for knocking.” Lennon nods. “Please, have a seat.” She does, and he looms over her for a moment before stepping around his desk to settle in his own chair. Her lungs burn. “Tell me about North Platte.” She can’t. With her silence, he steeples his hands, elbows resting on his desk, and fixes her with a painfully focused look. “Why North Platte, why not anywhere else?” Still, words don’t come. “Lennon, if you want to die here, that is your prerogative, but don’t waste my time, at least.” 

“I want to live.” 

“Then tell me why you chose North Platte.” 

“That is why,” Lennon closes her eyes. She can’t stand to look at him; Dillon’s parting words haunt her. Is Langdon going to kill her? It sure feels like it. “I needed a fresh start, so I applied to jobs near the interstate that would connect me to Chicago.” 

“What kind of jobs?” 

“Anything I was qualified for. Retail, food service, custodial, secretary.” 

“You’re not qualified for much.” 

It hurts, even though it doesn’t matter anymore. Seeing her brothers succeed was always nice, but it came with the aftertaste of her own failure. “I know.” 

“Why?” That, she truly can’t say. She doesn’t want to think about what she could have been, if only she were smarter, or richer, or as driven as Nelson, or as open as Dillon. “Look at me.” She opens her eyes without a thought, and Langdon is much closer than a moment ago, leaned far over his desk with a calculating eye. Suddenly, he leans back and stands. “Come sit by the fire.” She does. The seats are warm, a buttery leather that has been cooking for who knows how long. There’s a pinch in the back of her throat, a dot of a tear in the corner of her eye that evaporates too slowly. 

“Is your first name Michael?” 

“I already told you I wouldn’t say anything you can hear on the tape.” As good as a yes. “Tell me why you didn’t finish school.” 

“Just because I don’t know things doesn’t mean I’m not smart,” Lennon argues, but Langdon’s entire posture and expression remains still and absent. Objective. He’s playing with his food, she’s sure now, but the one corner of his lips that turns up screams that she try again with the same question. “Okay, I was broke and tired and my brothers are so much better than me that I thought it was hopeless.” 

“The answer you came up with after a lot of therapy, it sounds like,” he manages to condescend and dig his claws into her chest and doubt all in one fell swoop, and crosses one long leg over the other towards the fire like- like something. Lennon fumes. 

“That doesn’t make it untrue,” she tries, and he fixes her with another blank look that makes her avert her eyes. “And anyways, you’re wrong.” 

“Who got you away from Kuruk then?” 

A buzz travels from Lennon’s stomach to her fingertips. The Gray’s words echo in her mind, the fire flickers and embers spray on her arm, Michael Langdon sits not two feet away. It’s too much, everything he’s brought up. She just can’t think about it. Her body wants to move, attack him, make him stop, but she ends up reacting as she usually does. 

Calm again, she opens her mouth to speak. 

“No.” She jumps and looks at him, and he huffs a bit, glancing at the fire. “No, whatever you were about to say was going to be bullshit, and you know it.” He stands up and grabs Lennon’s elbow, pulling her to her feet and close to him, chest to chest and thigh to thigh. They’re the same height, but Lennon tries to flinch back and look away. “No,” he repeats, and lets go of her elbow to wrap his arm around her waist, instead. “Look at me, Lennon, you’re not leaving this room until you tell me the truth.” 

“You seem to already know it,” she whispers. Michael waits, infuriating. “I won’t dance for you,” she finally looks him in the eye to say, because she might not be able to control her emotions but she can shove them down and still be indignant. The hearth reflects in his eyes but he doesn’t squint. “The most entertainment you’ll get from me is watching me die, Michael Langdon.” 

He laughs, belly pressing into Lennon’s with each breath. His grip doesn’t loosen, but his steely expression does, hair shifting just out of place. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t contain myself; you think you’re important enough for an audience?” 

“I have an audience right now,” she blurts, and his stupid arrogant smile finally flattens. He’s quiet for a moment, and in another move of blatant insecurity, bunches some of the loose fabric of Lennon’s dress in his hand. She won’t be escaping his arms anytime soon. 

-

Most of Kuruk’s set was comprised of covers, but his original songs made up in quality what they lacked in quantity. Lennon found it admirable that he could contain just enough genius in a song that she’d be asking for more when it ended instead of sighing and excusing herself to go take a break from dancing. He put on a show, when he performed on stage- at his house, his songs would sound fragmented, but on stage they were steps to a larger arc. He didn’t let the audience breathe, he made them breathe. Lennon could never deny that with all his faults, Kuruk was a unique musician. 

She drove to his house from her secretary job near the highway and let herself in with the key he gave her. Alcohol sweetened the air inside, and a soft drumming could be felt rather than heard. Lennon couldn’t even begin to pinpoint which room he might have been practicing in. Instead, she meandered to the kitchen and fixed herself dinner- a TV dinner, but food nonetheless. What scraps Kuruk earned from his music he spent on his vices, leaving nothing for luxuries. He didn’t appear until she was already dozing on his musty couch. 

“Piícuʼ,” he greeted her, startling her from sleep. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“I heard you,” she joked, and smiled when he bent over to kiss her. “How was your day?” 

“I answered some emails, did some rehearsing, my buddy came over.” He sat beside her as she sat up and wrapped her arms around him. “We made a Baked Alaska, I saved a slice for you.” Lennon didn’t see any such thing in the fridge, so Kuruk thought for a moment and then decided, “I must have eaten it; I don’t remember.” Lennon just hummed contentedly and pressed her face into a scratchy, threadbare cushion. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she told him, “I’m proud of you for doing something so cool, wish I made a Baked Alaska today.” 

-

Instead of the bone deep chill that’s been hanging around the bunker since she entered it, Lennon is sweating as Michael escorts her back to her room. His grip on her waist and dress never relaxes, so she can’t pause to look down towards the parlor where Venable seems to be making an announcement, not that she cares much. The hallways are empty, though, because of it. This only serves to benefit Lennon’s dignity. Michael himself is quiet, too; uncomfortably so. The walk seems to take forever even though it’s just a few minutes. 

“I think there’s something going on in the parlor,” she decides to say, even though they passed it ages ago. Michael doesn’t say anything until they reach her door, and then presses her just slightly into it, seeming happy to throw his literal weight around with her. 

“Stay in your room until I collect you in two days,” he says finally, casual as if that isn’t an unreasonable ask. At her best dissenting frown, he draws his free hand from behind his back and reveals- 

“Where the hell did you get a- what is that, a protein shake?” It looks like a Slimfast, but Lennon hasn’t seen commercially packaged food in so long that she can’t be sure. Michael hands her the red bottle and doesn’t smile. 

“Don’t say a word to anyone,” he continues, “tell them you’re sick, and you need a few days to recover.” 

“Mr. Langdon-“ 

“Just my first name is fine,” he corrects her, and opens the door with a vague gesture. “Do as I say and you just might get what you want.” 

-

Emily worked at the coffee shop for all of six months. Longer than the usual students that hung around, but Lennon had trained her to be a shift manager. It wasn’t supposed to be too temporary a position. Pleasant surprise followed seeing the girl behind the counter when Lennon returned for Dillon’s birthday in December. Kuruk was excited to finally see the place after hearing so many stories about her family, so he ran around giving himself a tour while Lennon greeted the staff. 

“Can I get a couple chai lattes?” She asked Emily, who had shoved the young cashier aside to grin at her old mentor. “It’s pretty chilly out.” 

“Coming right up,” Emily nodded enthusiastically. The poor cashier was put to work quickly. “How’s Nebraska?” She wondered, but stared openly at Kuruk. 

“He’s a musician,” Lennon didn’t resist bragging. “He’s so talented, draws inspiration from his mother.” 

“What’s his name?” 

It was funny that neither of them pretended Emily cared about anything other than the beautiful man gawking at some edgy photography in the corner. Lennon smiles fondly. “Hey, big shot,” she called, and he spun. 

“Yes?” 

“This is Emily, I trained her before I left for North Platte.” 

“Kuruk,” he introduced himself while Emily blushed. “You’re lucky, you know,” he mused, wrapping an arm around Lennon’s waist and smiling with all the signs of an incoming joke. “You only had to be bossed around enough to take her place.” 

“We both know who’s the bossy one between us,” Lennon rolled her eyes, and accepted the kiss on her cheek. There were few things she wouldn’t compromise on, but public affection had ended up being removed from the list. Kuruk simply didn’t have the brainpower half the time to notice if he was in his own home or not, so she stopped expecting him to. Even though Emily’s attentive gaze made her skin crawl. “I’m proud of you for sticking around.” 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you, uh,” Emily glanced at Kuruk, whose eyes were glazed over with mild withdrawal. Lennon pointed him towards Harvey’s office and let Emily guide her to a quiet corner. 

“What is it?” 

“The coffee we stock, it’s- I mean, pretty much everything we stock, really-“ 

“Emily.” 

“The company doesn’t have any employees, just bosses and slaves.” She spoke quietly, but with guilt. “I’ve been selling this stuff for months, Lennon, you for longer, and all of the supplies, everything, none of the brands in this entire building are remotely ethical.” 

“What are you accusing my brother in law of?” Harvey, buying off the backs of slaves? It didn’t sound like him. It didn’t sound real. Lennon hated to disbelieve Emily, who seemed so sure, but the coffee shop was her family’s property. The idea that it might have been corrupt sounded like Lennon herself was okay with it, and she wasn’t, so she couldn’t accept the news- she shook her head. “Emily, I respect whatever research you did, but this is my family; they care about this shop, about the quality of service and product.” 

“I thought you would understand-“ 

“If you found what you’re saying to be true, fine; but why would I just go along with this idea if I have no findings to go off of?” Lennon demanded, trying to keep her voice low as well for the sake of everyone’s dignity. “I have no reason to believe my brother and his husband would buy from such awful places, Emily, I trust and love them.” 

-

Lennon hides the protein shake in a long-unused boot in her closet and rubs her eyes, nose, and mouth raw to make Michael’s lie somewhat believable. She can’t really say why she goes along with his demands; Dillon certainly hated him, if the recording is to be believed. He isn’t kind at all; there’s no way the Sanctuary exists. He must be making some kind of victory tour, watching the last of humanity fade for his own amusement. Does he realize what it’ll be like, after? When there’s no one to entertain him? He’ll grow tumors, belly distended with hunger, lips cracked from the cold. Unless he plans to take the pills himself, when there’s nothing interesting left. 

But even with this view of the man, Lennon obeys. Maybe she’s missing any and all masculine attention; none of the men in the bunker are remotely straight, including the Grays. An odd coincidence, maybe, or just another game that Michael set up. 

She’s giving him too much credit. 

He certainly feels larger than life, all soft hands and sharp nails. Sharp hands and dull nails. He’s got something going on in his head that’s different from most people, but instead of really hiding it, he just makes it look pretty. Being around him is debilitating. Even with nothing to lose, and not much to gain, Lennon thinks she just might bow to his plush lips, cruel as his sneer is. She’s never felt this way, or, she tells herself as such. 

“It’s Halloween,” Ms. Venable tells her, voice flat and leaving no room for Lennon’s excuse. “Be in the parlor within the hour or there will be consequences.” Lennon buries her head in her pillows and waits. Two days, Michael told her. Has it really been eighteen months since the bombs fell? Dillon said his bunker in West Virginia, probably the one Michael named in his introductory speech, had six months of rations. Did he die a full year ago? When Lennon was still coming to terms with the bleak future ahead of her, drawing up the idea that as long as she got even the slightest enjoyment from the most mundane of activities, she could say she lived a full life and be okay with whatever timing came to her. Now, she doubts the idea more than ever. 

Two sharp knocks on the door. Michael enters after a moment. 

“You look hungry,” he notes, and walks directly to the closet, bringing out the protein shake. “Why didn’t you drink this?” 

“I thought it was poisoned or something,” she admits, and drinks greedily when he breaks the seal for her. 

“That’s what everyone else got,” he says, and Lennon quickly spits what’s left in her mouth back into the bottle with a horrified urgency. “Not you, drink.” 

“I-“ 

“Drink,” he repeats, lightly pushing her wrist so she lifts the bottle again. Half of it’s already in her stomach, so she figures the other half can’t make too much of a difference. It tastes like heaven. “Ms. Mead, would you care to tell us about the party tonight?” 

“Everyone bobbed for apples, eventually eating them all at the same time, so they all died at the same time,” Ms. Mead replies, stepping into view from the hallway. While Lennon chokes in shock, she continues, “Except for Coco St. Pierre-Vanderbilt and Wilhemina Venable, who died from blood loss elsewhere in the compound.” 

“The Vanderbilt?” Michael tilts his head to one side as if Mead is filling them in on gossip instead of talking about death. “Oh, there’s a man wandering around with a knife, would you kill him, please?” 

-

For all that Lennon wanted to break up with Kuruk, it was he that ended it. They were arguing, Lennon couldn’t say about what- dishes? Money? Hygiene? Kuruk abruptly kicked a chair, shattering it, and shouted, “give me my fucking key back, and don’t ever show your face here again!” 

“Fine!” Lennon’s voice rose to meet his. She took the key from her pocket and dropped it on the floor in front of the television with his garbage. At the door, though, she paused, belongings in hand. As Kuruk rushed down the stairs towards her, alarmingly quick, she said, “for what it’s worth, I hope you don’t have to die again to see that you have a problem-“ 

He shoved her out the door, and she fell on the front porch, scraping up what skin was exposed to the early spring air and some of what wasn’t. Her possessions- mostly practical things that she needed a spare of at Kuruk’s, like a toothbrush or a phone charger- flew out of her arms and onto the dry, frozen lawn. 

-

“Lennon?” 

Nelson’s hair has grown past his ears, but it seems styled. He’s thinner, but they all are. 

“Didn’t I say?” Michael, behind her shoulder, murmurs. “Your brother gave me that tape just before I left for California.” 

“We were in California?” Lennon wonders aloud, instead of a million other things. Michael laughs, but she doesn’t care; she rushes forward and embraces her family, her parents and brothers and even Harvey, who may have sold his soul but for the ones he loved most. Dillon grabs her shoulder as they all pull away to breathe properly, see each other properly. 

“Didn’t you listen to my tape?” He asks, as her mom messes with the ends of her hair. “At the end, I mean, I-“ he looks at Michael. 

“It’s not my fault your sister’s a coward,” Michael says. Blunt. Rude. Simple, like he’s always meant it but spared her feelings before. And if that was sparing her feelings… 

“No,” Lennon snaps back before her family can jump to her defense, “it isn’t.” Michael smiles, clearly satisfied. “But I have a feeling you leave the cowards where they lay.” 

“Not always,” he retorts. Lennon’s family is ready to kill him, but they can’t. “Not the ones who dance for me.” 

-

Maybe they should have known, with Harvey. Some woman went on television talking about wicca, or not wicca, and some people were dead, Lennon wasn’t paying attention. She was trying to study when Harvey started mixing strange herbs on the stove. She hadn’t even heard him come in. 

“What the fuck kind of demons are you calling to my house?” Lennon’s mom asked, behind a, “what’s up, Harvey?” 

“New soup recipe, it’s vegan,” he said. “I had some on Halloween, but I couldn’t track the recipe down until now,” he paused to waft steam into his face, “just heavenly.” 

“Where did you find it?” 

“A dark corner of the library, actually,” Harvey admitted openly. After Lennon and her mom both looked at him strangely, he changed his tune. “Just kidding, it’s from Instagram, I follow these recipe blogs.” When he served it for dinner, Lennon pretended she had already eaten, but the next time he cooked for everyone, the whole incident was already forgotten. 

-

Michael visits her even though he doesn’t have to. Or, she’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to. Maybe he’s making sure she’s ready to be artificially inseminated, or maybe he’s making sure she’ll usher in a generation of little Satanists, or whatever he is. It doesn’t seem necessary. 

Her job in the Sanctuary is to sort files. She’s good enough at it given her time in North Platte as a secretary, but this time, she avoids the contents of the files not for privacy’s sake but because whenever she reads what the endless papers say, she nearly throws up. Death records, gruesome detailing of the survivors outside, studies on the effects of radiation on horses and babies. Lennon does what she needs to quietly and tries not to think too much. 

“I treasure our talks,” Michael says, though she hasn’t spoken at all. He leans back in a squeaky office chair and sighs, bringing his ankle to his knee. “There are few people left, and fewer that genuinely don’t listen to me; I never thought I’d want that, but it’s refreshing, I have to admit.” 

“How do you know I don’t listen?” Lennon’s voice is coarse with sleep and disuse. She stops her paper cut hands to look at Michael while he just smiles without his eyes. It’s eerie. 

He, in turn, doesn’t listen to her. “I’m going to have to take a tour of the Pacific sometime soon, a lot of the islands out there are only just losing people to the nuclear winter, which is a shame.” Lennon turns back to her work and thinks of water. The more time she spends around Michael- or rather, the more time he spends around her- the easier it is to think with him near. Her mind is sludge, fingers and toes buzzing, lungs aflame, but she’s able to work and speak as needed. Most of the time. 

When her work is done for the day, she stands and jumps back a bit when he mirrors her. “What is it?” 

“Walk with me, Lennon,” he says, his voice soft in an odd way with his gaze seemingly caught on a tangle of hair over one of Lennon’s ears. She nods, and he puts her hand on his elbow, but doesn’t hold his arm up, leaving her to pinch his sleeve for propriety’s sake. The Sanctuary’s hallways are long, winding, and empty, but the sound of their footsteps echoes. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Nowhere in particular,” he answers smoothly, quickly. “I’ve been around a lot of people, you know, and many betrayed me, some were kind to me.” His hands are tucked into his pockets, keeping his arm still, but he lifts one up to his face to run at his mouth. Lennon is ashamed of how aware she is of him. “You’re the only person who has neither betrayed me nor been kind to me, and yet you’re pleasant to be around.” 

Lennon blushes at the natural progression of his statement, but he seems confused about it. As she laughs nervously, he frowns, and runs a hand through his long hair, messing it up a bit. She’d be lying if she told him his feelings weren’t reciprocated; at least, to a small degree. “Okay, you’re either fucking with me or you’re a virgin.” 

He jumps back, tearing his arm from her grip as she continues to flush. “What are you talking about?” 

“Have you never, like, been attracted to anyone?” 

“Carnal pleasures don’t appeal-“ 

“I don’t mean sex, Oscar Wilde,” she interrupts him, as the temperature in the hallway continues to rise. “I just mean, like, I mean-“ 

“What?” Suddenly he’s not bewildered anymore, just interested, curious as to what’s on the tip of her tongue. She can’t describe it, not in a few words, and maybe not in many, either. “What do you mean?” He pins her to the wall with a look, then approaches, invading her space without touching her. The lower Michael’s voice drops, the more hypnotized Lennon gets. 

She stutters, helplessly, breathlessly, “I mean love.” 

“I don’t love you.” His lip curls in a snarl, but despite the white noise in her head, she knows that isn’t what she asked. “But you want to know, don’t you? What draws us together.” Lennon sighs when he finally leans into her, thigh to thigh and chest to chest, just off center. He leans further, to her ear, and hisses, “what makes you want a monster?” 

-

In the days following Lennon and Kuruk’s breakup, Lennon stayed in her own house and called in sick to work. She got fired for it; they knew what had happened, North Platte was small enough. A neighbor she didn’t know left a box of food on her porch that she greedily wolfed down. The only thing that survived Kuruk showing up unannounced and Lennon’s ensuing mania was the property itself, the shattered bottles vacuumed up easily enough and the bloodstain on the wall wiped clean. 

Part of Lennon, though, would probably never recover. She could only just piece together the memories, and even while processing she found herself in the throes of withdrawal. It was a miserable time, knowing she would either have to skip town or find a new job quick, because renting an entire house did cost money. Even if she wasn’t actively using any utilities, even if housing costs were beautifully cheap there compared to Chicago. A cloud formed over and in her head, shaking with lightning and stress. 

The neighbor came back and knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she spread out on the bathroom floor, sweating and crying, and horrified herself with her own imagination. 

How she must have looked, pale and narrow eyed beside Kuruk. Like jello, mobile and easily broken, pinched under his arm at a bar or walking down the street. Stripped bare of any dignities she held close, pinning them all to the man beside her. How she must have looked, with yellowed and bloodshot eyes, stumbling everywhere she went. 

Through the weeks that followed, more torturous and less dangerous, Lennon held her love for him dearly. It was the only thing she had left. 

-

“I’ve done this before.” 

“I gathered.” 

Michael is stiff, but he lets Lennon curl up to him as she wakes up and stretches out her torso. 

“No,” she corrects him, “like, I’ve dated some unsavory characters.” 

“Is that what we’re doing?” 

“It doesn’t matter that much,” she quickly disclaims, but then turns and buries her face in his chest while he sighs. “My brother Dillon is drawn to caretakers, I’m drawn to-“ again she’s at a loss for words. Danger? Instability? 

“Villains?” He finishes for her. She lifts her head and looks at him, flat on his back with one hand twisting a lock of his own hair and the other resting on her arm. “I don’t see you with a savior complex.” 

“No, I just-“ she buries her head again, and he begins to comb her hair, instead. Michael’s hands are soft, clever. Lennon melts. 

-

With only a few years between them, Nelson and Lennon attended the same elementary school at the same time. She was bullied, had been for years, but didn’t notice anything odd until her little brother ran up to her on the playground. 

“Will you push me on the swings?” He asked, even though he could have gone to one of his own friends. But Lennon appreciated the attention, as embarrassing as it was to be seen with him. She wasn’t sure why, but he was a little kid. Surely there were cooler people she could hang out with. “Thank you!” He squeaked and hugged her, and she quickly pushed him away. 

“Come on,” she urged him, and raced him to the swing set. But she only got a few pushes in before they were spotted. 

“Higher, higher!” Nelson squealed, and Lennon tried her best; all her teachers, counselors, the principal, anyone she told always responded the same thing. If she didn’t react to the assault, it wouldn’t happen again. The lesson stuck with her even when it didn’t ever really work. Because she could school her features, but she couldn’t actually be unbothered. 

-

“I was bullied when I was younger,” she admits, when it seems like Michael has finally gotten bored of his own voice. He doesn’t leave her office, though, just watches her read page after page of tragedy and put it all in a corner of her mind that gets tireder and tireder every day. “This one kid, Jimmy, he was infamous in my class for hating literally everyone, we were all terrified of him, he didn’t even target anyone in particular.” Lennon closes her eyes and remembers how small she was. “I thought he was cute, so one day after school, I asked him on a date; I was, I don’t know, ten?” Her mother had been jarred into silence when she walked in the door. “He broke my nose,” she tells Michael, tapping the barely noticeable twist in her features, “and my mom told me; anyone can be good looking, but the one you’re looking for is the one who opens the door for little old ladies, not just you.” 

“You’re selfish.” 

“I’m very selfish,” a laugh bubbles out of Lennon’s throat, “nothing of mine is ever shared, and when it is, it’s with people who will never share.” 

“Taking away jealousy completely by being certain your partner would barely like people enough to be with you.” Michael leans forward, over her desk, but doesn’t kiss her again. “So vain that you hate the way you look,” he utters, warm breath fanning across Lennon’s lips. She gulps. “If I had seduced you sooner, you’d be dead with the others in Outpost Three.” 

The poison dripping from his smug lips doesn’t make them look any less delectable. Still, through exposure therapy, Lennon has improved. “But what about _your_ savior complex?” 

For her words, Michael stands to loom over her and steps around the desk, straddles her lap, and wraps his arms around her neck. “I’d feed your corpse to them, raw, without trickery,” he simpers, then moans outright and grips the simple chair behind her shoulders. It creaks, but Lennon doesn’t care, captivated by the series of blissful shivers passing through Michael as he imagines unspeakable violence. “And they’d thank me, for keeping you so fresh, for having my Ms. Mead kill you instead of a poisoned apple, so they could put you to rest themselves.” 

Lennon’s hands twist on Michael’s lapels, but she doesn’t say anything. He opens his eyes finally, bright and bottomless, and fixes her with a smile that narrows them. His smile, the real one. Genuine, though his words are subhuman. 

“I bet you’d want me to eat your heart, it’d make you special,” he continues, head tilting to one side, hair tumbling to follow. “But it’s useless in a dead body, so I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole.” Slowly, gaze burning, he leans down and bites solidly on her collarbone. It hurts; she flinches, only causing his teeth to snag, pinch, surely tear. He doesn’t back off, though, continues feasting with a low chuckle. Lennon flinches again when he spreads his tongue across the fresh wound. 

The room turns blurry, so she closes her eyes.


End file.
